


bebop

by theycallmeDernhelm (onyourleft084)



Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Coldplay, Concerts, Established Relationship, M/M, Making out in the Bentley, Modern Music, Sort of a Songfic, ineffable husbands, yellow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft084/pseuds/theycallmeDernhelm
Summary: Crowley attempts to be Aziraphale’s guide to the world of modern music. Unexpectedly, Aziraphale finds the way all on his own.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515578
Comments: 18
Kudos: 178





	bebop

So it was a cool autumn night, and the stars were out, and Crowley had parked the Bentley on top of a hill just outside city limits, and he and Aziraphale were sitting in it. They weren’t doing anything, well, nothing yet, but Crowley was fiddling with his mobile phone and Aziraphale was watching him patiently, and the Bentley itself was uncharacteristically silent. 

“Couldn’t you just ask the car to play it?” Aziraphale asked presently.

“Nah, she won’t play anything except Queen,” mumbled Crowley. “Right. Let’s start with this.”

He tapped something on the screen and his phone started playing a grooving, grungy tune. Crowley turned up the volume and placed it on the dashboard. He turned to Aziraphale with a grin.

“I’m gonna keep going until we find something you like.”

“Crowley, that’s really not necessary-“

“Oh come on. There’s a whole world in here to explore!” Crowley held up his phone with a playful little shake. “Let me be your guide into the world of modern music, Angel. It’s a lot of fun, I promise.” 

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I thought you were taking me here for something more exciting,” Aziraphale said. “Like, I don’t know, a picnic. Or...stuff in the backseat.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows mischievously. “Well, that’s very forward of you, Angel.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Anyway, I didn’t think you would pick me up and drive me all the way out here just to listen to music. We could’ve done that at your place, or mine.”

“But this is much more romantic,” Crowley enthused, an edge of sarcasm to his voice. “This is Velvet Underground, by the way. They’ve got the whole discography here on this little green app. We have all night to listen to it, and maybe you’ll like it.”

Aziraphale actually looked sick. Crowley’s face fell.

“You won’t know if you don’t try,” he coaxed. “Isn’t that how you started liking sushi? And the gavotte?”

“I could already tell I was going to enjoy both of those things,” Aziraphale said, but he conceded and fell silent.

He let Crowley play about three more songs before his impatience showed itself, and Crowley had the good grace to turn the music off.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “I admit it’s a bit of an acquired taste. How about we snog now, hmm?”

“That’s better,” said Aziraphale, relieved. Crowley grinned and leaned over to kiss him, butthe moment was promptly ruined by the Bentley blasting ‘Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy’ from the speakers.

“For Heaven’s sake,” hissed Aziraphale.

Crowley smacked a hand on the dashboard and told the Bentley, “Can you not?”

* * *

The real reason Aziraphale was mostly averse to Crowley’s bebop, as he put it, was not because of some antiquated snobbery or personal preference. It was because at some point in human history the evolution of music in the Western world had picked up at an astonishing pace, producing too many genres and styles than anyone could keep up with- certainly not Aziraphale, who had just gotten his head wrapped around dancing he gavotte. He blamed the introduction of synths and auto-tune, the change in tempo reflecting the frenetic pace of the 20th century, and rather than latch on to something new- pop, alternative, jazz, rock- he instead clutched onto his classical favourites and watched them fall out of fashion. Deep down, Crowley knew this; that the world had spun too fast for his angel and left him out of the loop. In an attempt to share part of his world with him, he’d spent a good several hours coming up with a playlist of his favourites (very difficult to do if you’ve been around for last six thousand years) in the hope that Aziraphale would at least appreciate one of them. In the hope that, after all their years of knowing each other, there would finally be something they could both sit in the car and vibe to.

Aziraphale knew enough of Queen by now to be sick of it, although how anyone could be sick of it, Crowley didn’t know. He at least indulged Crowley in the rest of his music tastes, but they got through the playlist without a single positive reaction from the angel. With fierce determination, Crowley widened the net; he played the Billboard Top 100 of the past few decades across all genres, the Essential collections of every band from the 70s to the present, even brought a FM radio to the bookshop and tuned it to the most popular station playing all the most popular, vapid hits.

Nothing. Just a tiny shake of the head from Aziraphale, and Crowley would frown and switch stations.

“I can’t leave you to your celestial harmonies,” Crowley said, defeated, as Aziraphale moved to put a record on the gramophone. Soft classical music- Liszt, by the sounds of it- filled the bookshop. “Angel, c’mon. Music’s important to me. The-the way it changes, the way it changes people. Where d’you think I’d be without Freddie? You never know what it’s gonna do for you. I’d hate for my best friend- my boyfriend- to miss out on something like that.”

Aziraphale smiled. “That’s very sweet, Crowley,” he said. “And I admire your efforts and your patience. But I think there are just some things we’ll always have different tastes for.”

“We didn’t stop Armageddon just so you could listen to the same composers over and over and over, wasn’t that exactly one of my main points? Besides dolphins?” said Crowley. He had a sudden idea, and shot upright from the couch he’d been sprawled over with a manic grin, “Wait. Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way.”

“Oh, no,” grumbled Aziraphale. “What is it? Actually, forget I asked- “

“Let’s go to a live gig!” exclaimed Crowley. “Oh, you can borrow one of my leather jackets.”

* * *

Well, at least the jacket fit.

Aziraphale had performed a minor miracle to make it so, and he tugged the lapels tight over his chest as Crowley led him down the line of concert-goers into a dingy, underground theatre. Posters were stuck peeling on the walls, bands with peculiar names and even more peculiar-looking members. On every side they were flanked by humans who Aziraphale thought were dressed very strangely indeed.

Crowley fit into this group. Aziraphale, despite his attempts to blend in with the jacket, did not.

Sauntering past the line like he owned the place, the demon showed a pair of miracled express-entry tickets. The bouncer, unfazed, simply nodded his head, and they were in.

“There’s VIP privilege in this place?” Aziraphale wondered aloud.

Crowley grinned at him. “There is now.”

They pushed their way to the front of the crowd. It was definitely a smaller stage than what Aziraphale had seen at operas or the theatre, and certainly a far cry from Shakespeare’s Globe. He pressed against Crowley for comfort, and the demon chuckled and slid an arm around his shoulders.

“Angel, this is gonna be fun, I promise.”

“It better be...” Aziraphale warily eyed the humans in close proximity all around them. They were loud, and buzzing with anticipation, even if nothing was happening yet.

“Don’t worry. Besides, you look sexy.”

Aziraphale blushed at that, “You’re just saying that because it’s your jacket.”

“My jacket, and my Angel.” Crowley pressed a mischievous kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek, and just like that, the band came onstage and the show started.

Aziraphale should have known that he couldn’t expect what he was getting himself into. The band entered to screaming, jumping, shit-losing applause, the energy nearly knocking him off his feet. The lead singer- a girl with the wildest, craziest hair colours Aziraphale had ever seen- did a good job of hyping up the crowd before the music struck up and his earbuds buckled under the assault. And that was just the beginning. He snuck a glance at Crowley, who was bobbing his head with enthusiasm.

He was really feeling it, Aziraphale could tell. The swinging strobe lights that painted every surface in beams of neon put him, quite literally, in a different light, showing off that mischievous, rebellious, let’s-fuck-shit-up smile Aziraphale so loved. Imagine, it hadn’t been very long ago that he was scared he’d never catch up to Crowley, that Crowley would never think enough of Aziraphale to invite him into part of his world; but here Aziraphale was now, right slap bang in the middle of Crowley’s world indeed, and in spite of everything he found himself severely out of place.

It was just too crowded in here, too fast, too loud-

Crowley felt a squeeze on his arm, and tore his eyes off the stage just in time to catch Aziraphale pushing his way out of the crowd.

“Angel?”

The band began their next song, the familiar keyboard intro already digging its claws into Crowley as he recognised his favourite single from their LP. He glanced at them, wanting to stay for this, but Aziraphale-

“Bugger it,” he snapped, and plowed through the mosh pit.

Crowley managed to catch up to Aziraphale outside the theatre. The angel was standing there tugging on his usual cream coat, miracled into place without a second thought, and held Crowley’s borrowed leather jacket out with one hand and an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” he said. “I’m afraid it still isn’t a good fit.”

Crowley’s face fell, but he took the jacket anyway. “Hey, I’m sorry too. Was that too much for you?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “It rather was.” He took a step forward, “Crowley, I truly admire your patience and your diligence...and I feel terrible for being this way after everything you’ve tried to do.” He looked up into Crowley’s sunglasses. “But let’s face it. There’s a part of me that’s never going to change or open up, and I’m completely fine with that. I just...don’t want to be the one always slowing you down.”

“Y-you don’t ever have to change, Angel,” said Crowley in a small voice. “I never wanted to force that on you- I just, I just thought- “

“I know. And it was very generous of you.” Aziraphale smiled tightly, resolutely. “But that’s quite enough excitement for one night, for me at least. And I rather think I’ll go home now.”

“Right, I’ll drop you off,” said Crowley abruptly, his response as reflexive as flinching at a blow.

Aziraphale shook his head, “Oh no, no, don’t let me ruin it for you, dear.” He held out an arm as if to usher Crowley back into the concert. “You looked like you were having a good time, so, get back to grooving, or whatever it was.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. Go and enjoy yourself. I can get home just fine.”

“Nnnnnghhh, right,” said Crowley, already finding his selfish punk-ass drifting toward the entrance of the theatre, eager to catch the rest of the set. He turned hastily to Aziraphale to blow a clumsy kiss, “See you later, then.”

Aziraphale watched him duck back into the concert, an extra jacket on his arm, then turned and started walking down the street.  
  


* * *

  
The journey back to the bookshop would have been uneventful if Aziraphale hadn’t started feeling peckish. He wondered if and where he should stop to get something to eat. Presently he passed by a row of slightly newer shops, one of which was open 24 hours and still had quite a few baked goods in the display counter. There were doughnuts, too.

He shrugged. Why not.

The clerk standing at the counter looked almost dead on their feet. They had spent the last few hours on the night shift, most of it wrangling a broken card machine (it remained unfixed, and would likely remain that way until the manager’s return the next day) and was certain they’d end up working overtime at least by an hour because the girl coming in for the morning shift would undoubtedly be late. That was just the garnish on the cocktail of problems they had facing them- the customers and the rent and the transport and the uni scholarship they were so sure they’d buggered up—

The door opened and in came a gentleman in a waistcoat and bow tie. Some real Downton Abbey shit.

“Halloooo,” said Aziraphale cheerfully, and peered with enthusiasm at the remaining doughnuts in the glass case.

“Evening,” was all the clerk could manage. London at this time of night had strange folks walking around it.

There was music in the shop too, Aziraphale noticed. It was, in his opinion, a little louder than respectable for a business establishment, but he immediately understood that the clerk was all alone and likely bored out of their mind, and needed a little music to keep them company. A relentless-sounding guitar riff unraveled from the speakers amidst drums and cymbals. Aziraphale tried not to be distracted.

“Two of your cinnamon doughnuts,” he began. “And, er, maybe the chocolate, and the jam-stuffed one- “

A human voice joined the instruments now. Quite despite himself, Aziraphale found himself listening.

_Look at the stars_

_Look how they shine for you_

_And everything you do_

_Yeah they were all yellow_

“Hm,” he smiled to himself. Hadn’t Crowley once mentioned he created stars, nebulae, back when he was an angel?

_I came along_

_I wrote a song for you_

_And all the things you do_

_And it was called "Yellow"_

Yellow, just like Crowley’s eyes, weren’t they? They were beautiful, much like raindrops reflecting the sun. At times they could even be gentle. So was the singer’s voice, tender and wistful.

_So then I took my turn_

_Oh what a thing to have done_

_And it was all yellow_

  
Crowley, Crowley, Crowley- this song had him, had them, written all over it. A sudden rush came over Aziraphale, one he hadn’t felt since he’d first laid eyes on a plate of sushi or first heard of the gavotte- or indeed, since he’d first turned to a demon on the wall of the Garden of Eden and found himself staring at the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. It was the rush of encountering something completely new but already knowing you’d like it.

“What do you call this song?” Aziraphale asked, almost frantically.

The clerk stared for a moment. “This is Yellow. By Coldplay. Haven’t you heard it?”

“I admit that I haven’t.” Aziraphale broke into a helpless grin, “It’s beautiful!”

Even the clerk couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, it’s great, isn’t it?”

They stood awkwardly for a brief while as Aziraphale intently listened to every note, every word, astonished at how perfectly they lined up with his feelings for Crowley.

A jolt of delight coursed through Aziraphale as he realised this was something he could share with him.

“Hmm,” he said. “So. Cold Play, right? Yellow?”

“Yeah,” said the clerk, eyeing him apprehensively. “Um. Will that be all, sir?”

“Oh- yes,” said Aziraphale, remembering what he was actually here for, and his doughnuts were placed in a box and handed over the counter.

Aziraphale paid in cash, but knew it wouldn’t be long before the clerk noticed that the card machine was working again.

Then he said his cheery goodbyes and left, the song still playing for his exit as the automatic doors slid open. The clerk watched him go, somehow feeling that their brief encounter had been inexplicably profound.

Later, the girl who relieved them for the morning shift actually arrived on time for once, and so was the bus back to their flat. Most astonishing of all was the fact that when the clerk opened their computer upon returning home, they found exactly what they had barley dared to hope for: a scholarship offer to their dream university.

“It’s a miracle,” they gasped.

In this case, it truly was.

* * *

“Look, Aziraphale, I’m sorry I dragged you into that,” was the first thing Crowley said when Aziraphale emerged from the bookshop to meet him outside for their next date. “Uh, still not sure how apologising works. Are we good? We’re good, right?” He peered at the angel apprehensively over his glasses.

Aziraphale chuckled, “There’s no need to apologise, dear. I hope you still managed to have a good time?”

He could tell that Crowley was having a hard time hiding his excitement. A huge grin split over his face, “I’m not gonna lie, I really did. It was incredible.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” He kissed the demon on the cheek quickly before climbing into the open door of the Bentley.

Crowley clambered into the driver’s seat, “Now where did you say you wanted to go?”

Aziraphale smiled serenely. “Let’s go back to that place where you parked last time. I have something quite interesting in mind.”

Already curious, Crowley said nothing more and drove.

They arrived half an hour later, at the same spot on top of the same hill, and the Bentley was behaving itself by not playing anything. Crowley cut the engine and said to Aziraphale, “So, what did you want us to come here for?”

The angel beamed. “I have something to tell you. I found a song I like, and it’s recent. It...reminded me of you.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Well, look at you,” he said, impressed. “And what song is it?”

“Give me your phone.” Crowley handed his mobile over without a second thought, and it was his turn to wait patiently as Aziraphale fiddled with it.

“Now where’s that little green app you were using? Ah yes. Oh, there’s a search function. Lovely.”

“And here I was thinking you were really going to take initiative on that backseat stuff you were talking about last time,” Crowley mumbled. He leaned over in that snakey way of his to peer at the screen and almost grimaced when he saw what Aziraphale had typed in to search bar.

“Coldplay?” said Crowley incredulously, about to pass judgment. Then he shrugged wryly and said, “Eh, why not. British group, anyway.”

“Aha, here it is!” Said Aziraphale triumphantly, selecting the song with a light tap of his finger. The by-now familiar guitar riff filled the air within the Bentley.

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard this one,” said Crowley dismissively.

“Yes, but have you ever listened?” Aziraphale replied with a sardonic smile.

Crowley was about to say something, that this type of music was too soft for him, but stopped as the vocals began.

_Look at the stars_

_Look how they shine for you_

_And everything you do_

_Yeah they were all yellow_

“And it reminds you of me?” Crowley said, still somewhat incredulously. He had to admit, the song was quite nice, but nice was the very word he did not want to be associated with.

_I came along_

_I wrote a song for you_

_And all the things you do_

_And it was called "Yellow"_

“Well, once I heard the word ‘yellow,’ you were all I could think of,” Aziraphale said simply. “It made me remember your eyes. And that you created stars, a long time ago.”

Crowley made a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “It made you remember my eyes,” he repeated, trying to get around the sweet sincerity of the statement. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, “Okay, then.”

_So then I took my turn_

_Oh what a thing to have done_

_And it was all yellow_

“It’s about taking risks, you see?” Aziraphale couldn't help but explain, shifting in his seat so he was facing Crowley. “And finding out it was all worth it.” He smiled. “If that’s not us, my darling, then I don’t know what is.”

_Your skin_

_Oh yeah, your skin and bones_

_Turn into something beautiful_

_You know, you know I love you so_

_You know I love you so..._

“You know I love you so,” Aziraphale whispered along. He watched Crowley for any sign that he was loving this just as he was, that he’d heard what Aziraphale heard behind the words. The demon simply looked straight ahead, the small, flattered smile still playing on his lips.

_I swam across_

_I jumped across for you_

_Oh what a thing to do_

_'Cause you were all yellow_

A distinct feeling filled the car. Aziraphale knew the name for it almost at once- euphoria. The feeling associated with listening to a good song, or looking up at the majesty of the night sky, or being with someone you loved. Or doing all three at the same time. He didn’t fight it, instead let the sensation carry him away, and reached for Crowley’s hand so he, too, could follow, even if he thought he didn’t want to.

_I drew a line_

_I drew a line for you_

_Oh what a thing to do_

_And it was all yellow_

“This is my favourite part,” Aziraphale said blissfully, as the refrain rose again.

“Yeah?” said Crowley. “Cause I feel like this is the part where we snog.”

“Well then,” said Aziraphale, and leaned over and kissed him.

_Your skin_

_Oh yeah your skin and bones_

_Turn into something beautiful_

_And you know_

_For you I'd bleed myself dry_

_For you I'd bleed myself dry_

The emotions running rampant within the Bentley blazed streaks of passionate red and affectionate gold under Aziraphale’s closed eyelids. Could Crowley see what he saw, with those gorgeous eyes? Could Crowley feel what he felt?

_It's true_

_Look how they shine for you_

_Look how they shine for you_

_Look how they shine for..._

“Angel,” Crowley breathed.

“You see it, don’t you? Tell me you see it,” Aziraphale implored between kisses, his hand cradling Crowley’s jaw.

“Yeah,” whispered Crowley. “I do.”

_Look at the stars  
_

_Look how they shine for you_

_And all the things that you do..._

There is something remarkable about stars. They may be light years away from each other, but viewed from a far distance, say, a vintage car on top of a hill, it is easy to point out that certain stars belong together in clusters. The eye draws lines between them and thinks, Those two are connected.

You can notice this, even if at first you don’t know how to look.

Sometimes it’s simply ineffable.


End file.
